Black Fang's Dungeon
by jtm1848
Summary: Episode 3 in the Continuing Adventures of Spruce the Younger.


**Black Fang's Dungeon**

Spruce shuddered as the burning liquid coursed down his throat, pouring its way through his torso and into his stomach, where the fiery drink finally subsided.

"That's some good tea, Ameiko," he observed to his companion, his voice raw from the heat. He was sitting at his usual table, at the Rusty Dragon Tavern and Inn; his companion this morning was the owner and operator of the Rusty Dragon, and exotic, young woman named Ameiko Kaijitsu.

"I'm glad you like it," Ameiko replied with a teasing smile. In a way, it was a relief for both of them, to sit and joke like they had done for years, when the village of Sandpoint had been a quiet seaside settlement. Of late, however, trouble had been brewing in the outreaches beyond the town's walls, and the townspeople were on edge. Normally lighthearted, it was hard for the twosome to not have their moods dampened by the pervasive sense of gloom settling over Sandpoint.

A few tendays earlier, livestock had begun to disappear from the outlying farms; a sheep here, a cow there, the animals were snatched up in the night with nary a sound made to alert the sleeping farmers. The animals were simply there in the evening, and gone in the morning, with not a hint of how they had been abducted. Sometimes the livestock remained missing, their final resting places a mystery; other times, half-eaten carcasses were found, often several miles away.

Then a glimpse of the supposed killer was seen.

One night, a particular farmer was up late tending to a sick child when he noticed the skies suddenly blacken outside his cottage. Alarmed, he ran to the window, and caught sight of a black dragon in the moonlight, making its way above the pastures.

And the wily mayor of Sandpoint, Kendra Deverin, appointed the town's new hero to put an end to the new menace.

_At last! _Spruce thought as he made his way up the rocky hillside; sparse trees populated either side of the winding trail. The last hundred or so feet had been a struggle for the well-built youth, as the trail angled upward sharply and loose rocks skittered underfoot. Careful tracking and triangulation suggested that the black dragon—nicknamed Black Fang—was hiding somewhere in the ancient warrens of the hill.

_But now, _Spruce realized, his target was in sight ahead. It looked more like a cave than the front door of the ancient dungeon that it was; nestled in the crook of exposed rock, the recessed hole held no wooden doors nor iron gates, but was sealed away simply by a curtain of thick, green moss. Before the opening, with rock creating one wall and the curtain another, was an archaic plaza, once lined with brickwork; now, the bricks remained, but grasses and weeds poked their way through.

In the center of the plaza, itself maybe twenty-five feet on each side, was a stone statue; roughly his height, if not a little shorter, the statue showed the visage of an ancient warrior. Its edges worn smooth by the passage of so many eras, the statue still stared menacingly back at Spruce; and the young man couldn't help but wonder if it—and the dungeon—dated all the way back to the Thassalonians, so many thousands of years earlier.

Spruce's ears heard the cackling laughter even as he caught the movement in the corner of his eye. Wheeling about on one foot to face the mossy curtain, Spruce drew his longsword FIresbane from its scabbard and brought it swinging forward, acting as much on instinct as design; and the sharp sound of metal-on-metal told him that he had successfully parried what might have been a killing blow.

Having bought a critical second with his actions, Spruce squared up against his foe, his sword readied before him. His foe—_both of them,_ Spruce noted mechanically; the second stood a pace behind the first—were small, green creatures, both with melon-shaped heads. They were smiling broadly, showing toothy grins that were absent a few teeth, and the second creature had a single gold ring dangling from one earlobe.

_Goblins,_ Spruce thought with disgust. He launched into a mighty, two-handed swing, bringing Firesbane hissing through the air at the first goblin's neck, and without a moment to spare, the creature dove away from the blade. With the goblin sprawled on the ground, Spruce didn't hesitate; bringing his sword about, he brought the weapon downward. The scrambling goblin managed, without a second to spare, to bring its own shortsword upward to block; but the impact knocked the lesser weapon free from the goblin's grasp.

Spruce brought his sword backward, arcing it nearly behind his back as he scrambled to parry the second goblin, who had charged in behind him. Whirling about, Spruce continued the momentum of his weapon, bringing Firesbane about in a circle; and he brought the longsword down, hard, above the second creature's head. The goblin blocked the attack with its own shortsword, but fell to its knees under the force.

The first goblin was on its feet again.

_Goblins!_ Spruce thought again in disgust as he relinquished his position, pivoting about to deal with the first goblin. His sword ducked down low, countering a sweeping attack designed to lop off his knees; and with the weapons temporarily locked, he lashed out with his left fist, catching the goblin right in one bulging eye. The goblin screeched and backed away, dropping its sword as it used both hands to cradle its bruised eye.

Again, Spruce was unable to follow up on the opening, as the second goblin was on him; literally _on _him, for the creature had jumped on his back, bringing its shortsword forward to slash across the youth's throat. Spruce could do little to block the sword, but he whipped his feet forward, bringing his body collapsing backward to a crashing halt against the brick-laid floor. The goblin, dazed and trapped beneath the weight of a man named Spruce, let its weapon clatter across the ground.

Spruce rolled over and jumped to his feet, his knees still squat beneath him as Firesbane came about, howling its way through the air. The magical weapon slashed into the torso of the insensate goblin as Spruce forced the coup de grace, cleaving its way clear through across the chest.

One down, Spruce rose to his feet, ignoring the crick in his left knee; the first goblin was just now recovering, and it bore down on him, ready to strike its own blow. At the last moment, Spruce sidestepped the creature even as he brought Firesbane downward, slicing into the creature from behind.

Spruce ran a hand through his hair. _I'm not even in the dungeon yet. _A quick search of the goblins revealed that each carried a belt pouch containing two gold pieces, but nothing else of use. _So be it, _Spruce thought to himself as he rolled the goblin bodies to one side. It was time for him to enter.

Taking a moment to light a torch, Spruce pushed aside the mossy curtain, and stepped inside.

The entrance room—a chamber no larger than the makeshift plaza outside—was nearly empty, save for a pair of dirty straw mats and a battered treasure chest sitting between them. The mats were filthy, and Spruce eyed them carefully, trying to ignore the stench as he dislodged one with the tip of his longsword. He picked it up and shook it, but all that came out was a cloud of dirt.

But doing the same with the second mat revealed a rusted iron key.

Spruce eyed the key and eyed the battered chest. Sliding the key into the lock, he gave it a twist. _It works. _

Lifting the lid, Spruce ignored the rough creaking of long-disused hinges as he opened the chest and looked inside. The chest was nearly empty, but several items sat at the bottom, and these he quickly pocketed; a small sack of 20 gold pieces, a masterwork dagger, a small ruby, and a glass vial of orange liquid—_a healing potion._

_Enough of this, _Spruce thought as he looked around the room again; the remainder of the chamber was empty, and only a single set of stone doors led deeper into the dungeon. Closer inspection revealed that they were completely smooth, possessing no carved runes nor other symbols. A test of the handle demonstrated that the doors did not have a lock.

Spruce held his breath as he pushed the doors open, cringing at the sound of sliding stone as the heavy slabs shifted along their hinges and scrapped across the ground.

He was surprised to walk into the sun.

_No, really, _Spruce thought as he stared into the room, mouth agape. It was as if the sun itself were captured in the small chamber, bathing the room with a shimmering golden radiance; _almost as if sunlight reflecting off the ocean_, he realized. The source of the light—the sun itself—was hard for him to look at, it was so bright and brilliant; a golden light shone from a fountain in the middle of the room. Made of stone, the water cascaded downward from the highest portions, the water itself glowing brightly, and a series of runes were inscribed in the fountain's lip.

Uncertain of just what he was looking at, Spruce walked completely around the fountain, giving it a once-over while he checked the room at the same time; and satisfied that he was, indeed, alone, the young man turned his full attention back to the strange water-light. Edging closer, he reached out a hand, prepared to spring away at the first sign of danger; but nothing happened, and he edged closer, and closer, until he was cupping the water-light with his hand.

It was clean and cool, and as Spruce pulled his hand back, the water-light cupped within slowly faded away, transforming into ordinary water after just a few seconds.

Spruce again placed his hand into the water-light, and this time, before it had a chance to fade, he took a drink.

Spruce marveled as a golden aura enveloped him, seeming to spread from somewhere deep within his body.

Moments later, it faded into nothingness, but Spruce was surprised to find that several cuts and scrapes had completely healed over.

_This is amazing, _Spruce thought as he lowered himself to his knees, bringing his eyes roughly level with the runes etched into the fountain's lip. He read them slowly, only somewhat familiar with the archaic writing; and he recognized the rune for _Desna_, the goddess of fortune. Alongside it were runes for _offering _and _blessing._

_Very well. _Spruce rose up, ignoring the crick in his left knee as he did so, he reached into his pocket to withdraw a gold piece; and he flipped it into the water-light, mouthing an invocation of appreciation for the goddess.

There were two passages leading out of the chamber, and Spruce paused to investigate each one in turn. The first one, an open passageway without a door, led to the northwest; and listening carefully, he could hear talking noises coming down the corridor. _More goblins_, he thought with disgust; while he was unafraid of the vermin, he similarly had no desire to charge into a goblin's nest without necessity.

The second passage was blocked by another stone door, but like the first, it was unlocked; and Spruce eased it open, electing to take his chances down the quieter of the two paths.

The doors swung open—silently—and revealed a chamber bathed in red light.

Across from the doorway, on the east side of the room, were a pair of stone statues, each one standing guard over the dusty altar placed between them. The only object on the altar was a single red gemstone, large for its type. The red light radiated outward from the gem.

Spruce nearly jumped at the sound of the voice. "Approach with humility and live!" it boomed outward, reverberating throughout the medium-sized chamber. Spruce glanced around wildly, as if expecting to see a creature sneaking up behind him; but he was alone.

Frowning, Spruce took a step back, then stepped forward again.

"Approach with humility and live!" the voice boomed again, and Spruce realized that it was triggered—somehow—by him passing the threshold of the room. _It must be magical_, Spruce thought, for it was a voice without a speaker; it sounded throughout the entire room without an obvious source. _But what does it mean?_

Spruce shrugged his shoulders, figuring that it was of no consequence; regardless, he edged forward carefully, setting each foot with caution as he entered the chamber. The room was some twenty feet across to the altar.

At fifteen feet, everything was fine.

At ten feet, everything was fine.

At five feet, Spruce found himself diving, instinctively, to his left as a cone-shaped fan of flame shot outward from the altar, ripping through the air at a height of about three feet. Spruce's quick reflexes saved him from the worst of the billowing fire, but the right side of his body was scorched in a painful way.

_So that's what the voice meant, _Spruce thought as he gritted his teeth against the fiery pain. It was evident to him now; if he wanted to approach the altar, he would have to go on his hands and knees. _With humility. _Rising to his feet, Spruce resisted the urge to clutch his wounds, but stayed hunched over as he staggered back into the previous chamber.

Moments later, healed by the renewing water-light, Spruce entered the red light. "Approach with humility and live!" the voice boomed out again, and this time, Spruce heeded the warning; setting his torch aside and sheathing his longsword, Spruce dropped to the floor and crawled forward. At the five-foot mark, the sheet of flame shot out again, but this time, it whooshed over his head; and a second later, the fire had dissipated.

Still leery, Spruce reached up with one hand and grabbed the gemstone from the altar. It was hot; but once removed, the gem cooled rapidly, and the powerful red glow subsided. It was a flawless ruby.

Spruce crawled away from the altar before rising back to his feet. There was little else of interest in the chamber, little reason to stay; and to the southeast corner was an outlet chamber, its depths disappearing in unlit darkness.

_One way forward, _Spruce figured as he pressed forward into the chamber, his way lit by the flickering light of his torch; it was a short passageway, no more than ten feet, and he made his way through relatively quickly.

Long and narrow, the following chamber was covered in spider webs; the thick silk was all over, hanging from the walls and ceiling, coating the floor, a foot deep in some places. Dozens of tiny spiders crawled about on the webs, but Spruce realized that none of these little arachnids could responsible for the large webs enveloping the room.

Glancing around, wondering if a large spider lurked in wait, Spruce entered the room with Firesbane readied before him; senses alert, he scanned the room, eyes searching the darkened recessed of web-covered corners.

All he saw, buried underneath a thick webbing of silk laying across the floor, was a goblin. Clearly dead, its skin was pale and waxen in the light of Spruce's torch; its misshapen head and toothy grin were shriveled as if desiccated, and its clothes were beginning to rot away. Forcing down a gag at the vile smell, Spruce crossed the room knelt down beside the body, taking care to step only in the thinnest portions of webby coating.

Pulling out the masterwork dagger he had acquired earlier, Spruce was able to make short work of the webbing as he sliced through it and lifted veritable sheets aside. A quick search of the body—for Spruce did not want to touch it any longer than need be—revealed a wooden dragon toy, a wand of magic missile, and a pouch with fourteen gold pieces.

A heavy weight knocked Spruce sprawling into the cobwebs, and instincts taking over, he wrestled about, trying to spring to his feet; but the sticky silk wove itself around him like a cocoon! Refusing to panic, Spruce took a deep breath and quit struggling; his frantic movements were simply burying deeper in the trap.

But not much time remained—already, the giant spider was stalking its way towards him, droplets of blackened poison dripping from its bare fangs. It was easily the same size as Spruce, and its eyes shone with the stunning intelligence of a skilled hunter.

Spruce knew he had moments to live, but panic would not save him; and choking back the welling desperation, he knew that his one hope was to cut himself loose while the spider played with its prey. Even though Firesbane lay out of reach, he still held the dagger in his right hand; and with deliberate movement, he angled it upward and thrust, the sharp masterwork blade slicing clean through the silken web. Quickly he sawed, as the spider stepped slowly over the web-encrusted floor, the arachnid apparently seeing no danger in toying with its meal, but there was too much webbing to cut through!

The shadow of the spider fell over Spruce as the animal stood above him, lowering its head to look the man straight in the eye. Spruce blanched, but refused to panic; and has the spider raised its head, then brought it crushing down, maw wide open, Spruce rolled with all his force to the right, breaking the remaining strands of web with the weight of his movement.

The spider nearly squealed in surprise as its fangs hit the rock floor, where its prey had been less than a moment before.

Without pause, Spruce rolled over and leapt to his feet, palming the dagger into his belt and grabbing Firesbane in one swift motion as he rose, the longsword now pointed at the spider's flank. With the arachnid still stunned, Spruce moved in quickly, slashing his way forward and neatly severing two hairy legs.

Now the spider screamed in an ear-curdling way as its head swung about, eyes glowing a malevolent red as it sought its insolent dinner; but missing two legs, the giant creature couldn't balance and stumbled to one side, trying to halt its movement.

Spruce didn't even stop to think as he darted forward. For one moment—one critical moment—the spider's neck would be exposed; and even before he saw the opening, Spruce lifted his great longsword and brought it crashing down.

The magical weapon sliced cleanly through the spider's carapace and into the thick ichor beneath. The spider fell to its belly, twitched one, and died silently.

Spruce breathed a sigh of relief, and quickly checked to make certain that his own body was wholly intact.

Eager to put the spider's nest behind him, Spruce made his way into the next corridor, which was practically a cavern of its own; easily twenty-five feet in breadth and over ten feet tall at the center, the far end disappeared beyond the light of his torch.

But it was not the far end of the cavernous passageway that caught Spruce's attention; for halfway down the path was a strange stone pillar, standing nearly the full height of the ten-foot arched ceiling. It was covered, floor to ceiling, in odd symbols and faintly glowing glyphs. Carefully examining the pillar from all sides, Spruce could find no sign of traps nor hidden beasts; and so he turned his attention to the glyphs.

The writings were arcane, and largely unknown to Spruce; but he recognized one symbol, and frowned as he searched his mind for its meaning. For whereas a number of different symbols were etched across the surfaces of the pillar, there was one—_this one_, and one alone—that seemed to appear twice; then a third time; and finally a fourth time, once on each face of the pillar.

_Water, _Spruce thought excitedly, proud of himself for recognizing the ancient symbol. Sheathing his sword, he removed the glove from his right hand and traced the glyph on the south face, and not content, he traced the glyph on the east face as well; but puzzling enough, when he did, the glyph's faint glow seemed to grow incrementally brighter.

_I think I sense a pattern,_ Spruce reflected, and he subsequently traced the glyphs on the north and west faces as well; and when the last line of the last symbol was traced, all four symbols suddenly erupted in a brilliant blue.

And so did Spruce.

_Interesting, _he couldn't help but think as he looked at his hand, surrounded as it was by blue light. He assumed it wasn't permanent, and it didn't seem to be dangerous; indeed, an intuitive sense suggested to him that he could now breath underwater for as long as the light lasted.

Only one other aspect of the broad corridor caught Spruce's eye; the light of his torch revealed chalk writing on the rough stones of the east wall. Written in common, Spruce easily read it: "_The goblins fear the wyrm and do not venture through the crypt to its lair. Its breath is death._"

_Wrym, _Spruce recognized, was an archaic word for _dragon. _

With his torch held aloft, Spruce worked his way deeper into the cavernous room, flickering light projecting shadows from the rough edges of jutting stone and rock. It took another thirty or so feet before he could see the far wall, lit as it was by the outermost reach of torchlight; but between him and the northeast corner, shaped like a shallow curve that neatly arced from the north wall down and around to the east wall, was a large pool of water. Isolated behind it was a small island; on the island, visible in the faint light, was something that glittered.

_Well worth investigating_, Spruce figured, knowing that he had come to this dungeon with adventure in mind. He was little concerned about the lake; even weighed down by his battered chainmail, intuitive knowledge told him that he could simply walk across the bottom. At least as long as he continued to glow blue from the water-spell.

Taking a deep breath before entering the water, Spruce made his way across the lake, encountering little resistance along the way; it was a sharply deep trench, ten feet at the deepest, but he was able to breathe normally as he walked. Along the way, he thought his foot bumped up against something that scurried away, but nothing was forthcoming.

_Attack!_ The reefclaw waiting in the pool waited for Spruce to reach the shore before making its move; but as soon as the young man's boots hit dry ground, the aberrant creature lashed out from the water, striking hard about his ankles with both claws. Spruce had barely a chance to see the reefclaw—an intelligent but vicious predator—before he fell to the ground, but was able to make out something resembling an eel's body, clad in black scales, with a lobster's head. Blood-red spines ran the length of the creature's body, and two appendages each possessed a fearsome, spiked claw.

Spruce hit the ground, lashing out with his right foot as he tried to break the creature's grip. He could feel the claws biting deeper into his ankles, and as he twisted about, seeking to free himself, the claws ripped freely through the toughened flesh, sending messages of pain to his mind; but Spruce could pay it no heed as he focused on off-setting the surprise attack.

Twisting about hard, Spruce managed to free up his right foot, and he kicked it out straight, aiming at the creature's slithery head; and he connected hard, knocking the reefclaw back nearly into the water as it let go of his other ankle. Scrambling backwards on his hands, dragging bloodied feet across the ground, Spruce gave himself a tenfoot space of opening.

As the creature exploded forward, lashing out with coiled strength, Spruce slashed forward with Firesbane. The attack fell short; but the reefclaw backed off again, giving Spruce time to swing his lower body around and rise to his knees. Flat-footed in the extreme, he held his position, his longsword prepared before him.

And the reefclaw exploded forward again, reaching outward with both claws wide open. With only a sword at his defense, Spruce swung hard, connecting with the creature's left claw about its base; and slicing through cleanly with the magical blade, he sent the claw skittering across the ground and into the water.

The reefclaw howled with rage as its right claw grabbed Spruce's left shoulder, closing tightly on the battered chainmail. Biting in deeply, the claw easily pierced the weak armor and sliced into flesh.

Spruce gritted his teeth as he struggled to remain conscious, ignoring the waves of darkness that were starting to sweep over him; he could feel the stinging sensation of poison seeping into the shoulder wound. He jabbed outwards with Firesbane, targeting the base of the creature's head; and again, the magical sword sliced through easily, neatly severing the reefclaw's head from its serpentine body.

Gasping for breath, trying to stabilize himself, Spruce dropped the longsword and grabbed at the claw still gripping his shoulder. Leveraging all of his remaining strength, he ripped it out, replete with a bloodied mass of flesh and chainmail. His body was starting to flush warm as Spruce fumbled at his belt, fingers desperately searching for the vial of healing potion secured there; and as the darkness overtook him, he poured the contents of the vial into his mouth.

Spruce could've sworn that he was relieving the battle with the reefclaw as the healing potion fought to repair the injuries his body had sustained. It could do little about the poison that was, even now, working its way into his blood; and Spruce had to hope that his own fortitude would be enough to defeat it as the healing potion knit his wounds back together while he hallucinated madly.

Sometime later—Spruce wasn't sure, except that the blue glow of the water-spell was fainter but still present—he came to his senses, laying on the rocky surface of the island. His mind was clear, and he felt no pain in his legs or shoulder; and he slowly sat up, testing each part of his body as he went. The wounds were appropriately healed, but his chainmail was missing the ragged chunk that had covered his left shoulder.

_So be it, _Spruce thought wearily as he staggered to his feet. His strength was slowly returning, and he steadied gradually.

A loose assortment of treasure sat on the island, and there was little left for him to do but examine the haul. There was a leather sack, holding 175 gold pieces; and two potions, one of which was labelled as a potion of levitation and the other as a potion of invisibility.

The final item—and this drew the most of Spruce's attention—was an immaculate sword, much like Firesbane in its perfection; but whereas Firesbane possessed a faint blue glow, this longsword possessed a faint red glow. Its hilt was etched with dragons, and there was a little hole—an inward dimple—shaped just right for the beautiful ruby he had found in the previous chamber. Popping it in, he marveled at the perfect fit; and wielding the blade experimentally, he found that it was a wonderful counterpart to Firesbane. _I'll call it—Dragonsbane_, he thought, not yet realizing just how apropos the name was.

With that task complete, Spruce quickly crossed the pond, making it before the blue water-spell dissipated completely; and he made his way into the exit tunnel, jutting off to the west from the current chamber. Narrow and dark, this tunnel went straight for twenty or so feet before depositing him in another room.

_Goblins_, Spruce thought with disgust as he peered into the new chamber; they seemed to be everywhere in these old dungeons, including right in front of him. The walls of the large cavern were covered with crude drawings, which charitably resembled sketchings of goblins; bones and garbage were scattered across the floor, and the smell was nearly overpowering.

But it was the inhabitants that caught his attention.

In the middle of the room were four goblins, each one wearing dirty, tattered clothing, arguing violently with one another; their words were nonsense to Spruce, who did not speak the goblin language, but there as a fifth goblin in the room who did speak common—and this goblin, not involved in the squabble, saw Spruce standing in the doorway.

"Who are you?" the fifth goblin screeched out in a loud voice, evidently trying to impress the others with boom. This one, clad nicer than the others, wore a crown about its head made of bones and feathers, and sat on a chair—a throne—made of more animal bones. "This throne room of me, King Fatmouth!"

As Fatmouth spoke, the arguing goblins slowly stopped and turned to stare at Spruce, who took a single step forward into the chamber. "My name is Spruce the Younger," he said in the common tongue, taking note that none of the goblins seemed to be moving towards him in hostility. Tired of fighting the vile creatures, he wanted to talk his way through this. If he could.

Fatmouth leered at the human with ugly, bulbous eyes. "And what do you want?" he demanded, still struggling to turn his high-pitched screech into a deep booming voice.

Spruce licked his lips. "I'm looking for passage through your—throne room," he replied. "My fight is with the dragon."

Fatmouth narrowed his eyes. "I give you free passage," he hissed, "if you do me something. Me sister Bucktooth stole toy. Her missing now. If you find toy, me let you live. And me let you go through throne room as much as you want!"

Spruce had an inkling of an idea. "What does this toy look like?" he asked, hoping that he already knew the answer.

"It little dragon," Fatmouth answered. "Wood."

Spruce smiled and pulled out the wooden dragon toy that he had recovered from the goblin body in the spider's chamber. "Is this it?" he asked, holding the toy out.

The four goblin minions shrieked with delight. "That it!" Fatmouth answered happily. "Give me!"

Spruce smiled and stepped forward, and the goblin minions made way for him as he approached the throne, where he handed the toy to Fatmouth. The goblin king snatched the toy quickly, and eyed it to make sure that it was intact. "The dragon is there," he said when he was finished, pointing to the north exit from the room. "If you fight dragon, aim for belly. Got soft belly scales."

"Thank you," Spruce answered. He stepped back from the throne, and the goblins quickly clustered together to look at the toy; quickly forgotten, Spruce didn't mind. He knew that he would likely have to pass back through on his way out of the dungeon, but he was glad to be done with the goblins for now.

Following the directions of the goblin king, Spruce made his way out the north exit of the room, but quickly realized that getting into the next chamber would not be easy; for while the corridor was downright airy, bisecting it was a twenty-foot-tall cliff. _This will take some planning, _Spruce realized as he reached into his pockets, searching for the levitation potion. He had to position himself just right for everything to work properly; the potion, as a rule, only acted vertically. It would lift him straight up the necessary twenty feet, but leave him hovering in midair.

Positioning himself as close to the cliff as he dared, Spruce drank the potion, and gasped as he started to ascend; for a moment, his feet flailed wildly as they sought purchase on solid ground before he caught himself. It was an eerie feeling, floating in the air such as he was, but Spruce did his best to not look down as he slowly rose.

Within moments, his head passed the top of the cliff, only a foot or so from the edge; within an arm's length, he reached out, looking for any rocky protuberance to grasp. However, in the light of his torch, Spruce saw only a flat sheet of rock, smoothened by the passage of time.

It was time to use his second option; and Spruce pulled the masterwork dagger from his belt and jammed it into the rocky floor like a piton. The finely crafted blade clanged harshly and scratched the surface, gaining just enough purchase to stay; and Spruce pulled himself into the cliff-face, finally clambering over the edge.

Spruce immediately saw the danger.

He stood up slowly, lifting the torch before him to illuminate the lofted chamber. It was, _it seems_, an aging burial chamber; a stone sarcophagus sat in the darkened depths of the room. Bones lay scattered across the floor, and the walls and ceiling were draped in cobwebs.

The musty air carried the sound of something shuffling in the darkness. _Evidently_, Spruce realized, _the dead do not rest easy. _

Out of the darkness came two skeletons, moving with remarkable grace as they crossed the chamber towards him. They were unarmed, but Spruce knew that it would be a tough battle; each monstrous creature had two clawed hands, and skeletons were largely immune to harm from a slashing weapon.

With only one clear option left for him, Spruce drank the potion of invisibility.

Moving as quickly as he dared, Spruce moved to the right, watching to see if the skeletons reacted; but instead, each head turned to face the other, and Spruce could imagine quizzical expressions on their undead faces. _They're not tracking me by sound or scent, _Spruce understood immediately. It was as much as he dared for; after slashing his way through multiple caverns already, he was ready for an easy one.

Scampering along the side of the cave, taking care to make as little noise as possible, Spruce worked his way through the old crypt; he felt little pressure from time, and was far more concerned with making his way quietly.

_Finally! _Spruce made his way to the northeast corner of the crypt, where the room's exit tunnel waited in darkness. It was a harrowing walk, as he dared not make a sound, and Spruce breathed a silent sigh of relief as he reached the recessed passageway.

The corridor, twisting and turning, wound its way through the thick rock for several yards before reaching a staircase; and Spruce made his way carefully up the uneven steps, making his way up a full flight before emerging into the back of an ancient warren.

The cavern was open to the sky above, and Spruce carefully set his torch aside as he took a better look at his destination. It was larger than the previous caves, and clearly of a natural origin; smooth walls curved gently, forming a bowl-shaped depression at the center of the room that was littered with debris. On the far side of the chamber, Spruce noted, was a pile of glittering gold and sparkling trinkets, piled up into a sizable hoard.

Spruce nearly fell back over his heels as a terrible winged dragon swooped into view, settling itself amid the treasure hoard. It was the largest creature he had ever seen—the scaly body was nearly ten feet long, with a spiked tail of almost the same length; each wing spanned another ten feet on either side of the beast, and the entire creature—including its fangs—was ebony black.

_This is it, _Spruce realized as he backed up, thankful that Black Fang hadn't spotted him yet. He drew his new longsword, Dragonsbane, from his belt, and gripped the hilt with both hands, preparing to charge in.

The great dragon swung its horned head around to glare at the intruder. Green liquid dripped from its black fangs, burning new dimples into the floor wherever the drops landed. Snarling harshly, the entire cavern seemed to reverberate with the echo; and the swish of its tail dislodged the treasure, creating a miniature avalanche of gold coins.

Almost frozen with fear, Spruce gulped once, and pointed the longsword at his foe.

At once, Black Fang surged forward, sending a wave of crushing air before the bulk of its body. Opening its great mouth, the creature spat out a torrent of green acid directly at Spruce's face.

Spruce watched, spellbound, as the acid was sucked into the flawless ruby lodged in the hilt of Dragonsbane; the dragon, too, seemed to stare at the ruby for a precious moment, as if wondering what had happened to its deadly attack.

Spruce reacted first.

With the dragon's nostrils breathing heavily, maybe five feet away, Spruce had time to charge and swing before Black Fang could react; and with the longsword before him, Spruce ran in, nearly jumping as he swung the blade upward at the exposed neck of the creature. The very tip of the weapon connected, slicing its way easily through the toughened dragonhide.

Impossibly, Spruce had drawn first blood.

The dragon snarled and brought its head downward, snapping at Spruce; and feeling the rush of air, Spruce tossed himself backward, landing painfully on the small of his back. The dragon lashed out again, snapping at the now-prone man, and Spruce desperately brought his sword up to parry the thrust of the acid-dripping fangs; steel and tooth clanged in the air, sending a spittle of acid flying off to one side, where it burned into the soft stone.

Spruce kicked himself backward, seeking to put as much distance between himself and the far-larger dragon as possible; and as Black Fang pulled his head in preparation for another launching assault, Spruce clambered to his feet, ignoring the shooting pain that radiated outward from his bruised spine. Lifting the longsword before him, Spruce steadied his stance, mentally preparing himself to be enveloped in the dragon's maw.

Black Fang roared mightily as it rose high on its hind legs, towering over the young man; and Spruce, backing away, felt his heels collide with the wall of the cavern. _This is it, _he figured; he had no room left to retreat, nowhere to go for safety. There was only the large black dragon in front of him, staring down at Spruce with fiery eyes.

The black dragon lashed out with a muscular arm, the air howling as it was rent by Black Fang's sharp claws; and as the arm came down, Spruce dashed forward beneath it, raising his longsword to stab the dragon in its now-exposed belly; and Dragonsbane, true to name, stabbed its way through the tough scales and into Black Fang's vulnerable innards.

The dragon let loose a terrifying screech as it stumbled backwards. The wound was small in comparison to the dragon's large bulk, but sufficient for blood to pour out; and with that, Black Fang flapped his great wings, lifted off, and disappeared through the hole in the ceiling.

_I can't believe it_, Spruce thought, amazed that he had survived the encounter; apparently, the dragon was not interested in fighting to the death, but Spruce did not mind. The dragon would be off to find a new, safer lair, many miles from the village of Sandpoint; another hero, perhaps, would slay the great beast, but for now, the citizens of Sandpoint were safe.

One task remained, and Spruce rifled through the treasure hoard. With two sacks and two pouches fastened to his belt, he stuffed them full, counting an astounding six hundred gold pieces; in addition, he found a magnificent light steel shield and an impeccably clean half-plate of armor.

Spruce returned to town by the evening bells, and taking his customary seat at the Rusty Dragon Tavern and Inn, he regaled the relieved populace with the tale of his adventure in Black Fang's Dungeon; the chokeberry tea was on the house, served personally by Ameiko Kaijitsu.

Early the following morning, Spruce visited Sandpoint's gemologist, who identified the flawless ruby as the _Energy Heart_; the gemstone was nearly beyond value, as its magical qualities protected the bearer against acid, cold, electricity, and fire damage.

Later on, as Spruce walked down the dusty streets of Sandpoint, he realized that he was starting to live the life of a hero; whereas he had begun with nothing but a tattered shirt of chainmail and a battered longsword, he now strode proudly, decked out in a half-plate of armor, and carrying a masterwork light steel shield along with two magical longswords. _I could really like this adventuring_, Spruce reflected. _I wonder what's next._


End file.
